Safe from the Flames
by lesbianwitchlibrary
Summary: Padma and Hermione are losing themselves to an uncontrollable, forbidden lust. But with so much at stake for each of them, can they commit to staying away from one another? Can they truly keep themselves safe from the flames? Warnings for homophobia and explicit sex. More romance than smut.
1. I Can't

"I can't. Hermione, you know I can't. My family – Parvati – everything -"

"Padma, slow down. You can't tell me you don't feel this, too."

"Of course I feel this. But I can't. You don't understand, Hermione. Indian parents -"

"My parents wouldn't be happy either. Their good little girl, involved with another girl? Their good little girl… But we can keep this between us. We can."

"Can we?"

"I think so."

"I'm scared, Hermione."

"I am too."

"We can't let it get too far. We can't – we can't go all the way."

"No. We won't let it get that far. But maybe just – maybe just -"

"Just what, Hermione?"

"I don't know. I don't know what to think, how to feel. And I don't – I don't even know if I can admit this to myself."

"Admit what?"

"Padma… Padma don't make me say it."

"Hermione -"

"Padma, I can't say it. I just can't."

"Well I can."

"Please, Padma. Don't. Just – not yet."

"Then when?"

"I don't know. You were the one to say 'no' in the first place."

"I know, but -"

"But?"

"I… I don't know Hermione."

"Well I don't either."

Hermione reached for Padma's hand. They sat side by side on the bed in Padma's room. It was lunch hour, and they were alone. But even though they were alone, they both felt that someone, somewhere, might overhear.

Padma's skin touched Hermione's.

It was too powerful. It sent shivers down Hermione's spine. She'd meant to hold Padma's hand. But she couldn't. She'd meant to squeeze it, try to reassure her. But there was nothing to reassure. They were not safe. It was not okay.

Hermione inhaled, pulled herself away Padma quickly, her hand slipping across Padma's silk skin, and slipped out the door.

This could never happen.


	2. Don't Stare at Me

Hermione found her place at the Gryffindor table. She searched for Padma and found her next to Anthony Goldstein, immersed in what appeared to be a very intimate conversation. Anthony reached for Padma's cheek. She blushed. He kissed her nose, and Hermione tasted bile.

Hermione felt a hand slip around her waist. Ron.

Hermione turned to him with a smile. "Hey, Ron," she said with a smile. Ron grinned back and leaned in to a kiss. Hermione didn't let on, but the kiss left her feeling strangely numb.

"Everything alright?" Ron asked.

"Yes, just… tired."

"Where were you the past couple hours?"

Where was she? Sitting on a bed with Padma Patil, fighting the urge to kiss her, to lay her down on the bed, to take off her robe and -

"Oh… roaming the grounds. Taking a break from studying." When Ron and Harry raised their eyebrows, Hermione added, "oh, and I'd meant to see Hagrid."

"You went without us?"

"Oh, yes," Hermione said. "He sent me an owl saying he had something to show me. About ancient runes."

Harry and Ron raised their eyebrows as Hermione stole another glance at Padma. Her arm was around Anthony. He was undoubtedly attractive – golden hair, blue eyes – but Hermione thought of him, in that moment, as the devil. As soon as she acknowledged the thought she pushed it back down inside her. She couldn't be thinking like that.

And this, maybe more than anything, was why nothing could happen between her and Padma. They both had loyal, caring boyfriends. The kind of boyfriend any girl would want.

Except for Hermione. Did Padma feel the same?

Ron's arm around her did not feel right. She wanted to shrug it off, but that might look suspicious. After all, they were star-crossed lovers. They were soul mates. Ron hadn't said as much – not yet – but Hermione knew that was what he was thinking. Harry had suggested as much. So of course Hermione couldn't shrug his arm off her shoulder. She couldn't have him confused like that. So she sat just as long as she needed to before bolting out of the Great Hall for class.

She sped up two staircases to make it to Ancient Runes on the third floor. Neither Harry nor Ron studied Ancient Runes, thankfully. But Padma did.

As Hermione was about to enter, she felt a tug on her rub. It was Ginny. "What's going on with you?" she asked. "Are you okay?"

"Of course I'm okay. What makes you say that?"

Ginny frowned. "I know you too well Hermione, that's what. Something's up."

"I'm fine. Really, Ginny."

Ginny crossed her arms. "Fine then. Keep it to yourself. But when you eventually decide you can't hold it in anymore, I'll be here."

Hermione stood there, looking at Ginny. This would be the first secret she ever kept from her. But she had no choice.

"Ginny, I have to go to class."

As usual, she was the first there. She pulled out her books, parchment, and ink, and wrote the date at the top of the parchment in her perfect handwriting. She would distract herself as best she could, but, against her will, Padma kept popping back into her mind.

It did not help that Padma was the second student in the room. But Padma sat, far away from Hermione, pulled out her things, and stared straight ahead.

 _Another day,_ thought Hermione. _Another day of pretending there's nothing between us._

Class that day was boring and long, and all Hermione could see was the back of Padma's head. Her beautiful, thick black hair was pulled into a bun, and Hermione could see her neck. Padma had beautiful skin. It was distracting. To make matters worse, Padma was the second-best student in her year (after Hermione), and was often picked to explain things or answer questions. Her voice, confident, like nothing could challenge her, like she knew every last piece of the world, sounded different today. It sounded as if Hermione had never truly listened to it.

She almost missed when Professor Babbling told them to open their book, and she didn't hear Professor Babbling as she called out, "Hermione, why don't you read us the second passage on page twenty-nine?" Hermione was busy looking over Padma's shoulder, at her hands. The ones she had gotten to touch just yesterday. Professor Babbling coughed, Hermione remembered her place, and she almost stuttered as she said, "certainly, Professor."

After the hour was over, they filed out of class. Hermione had a free period next, and remembered she had a paper for History of Magic to work on. She had just resolved to head to the library when she heard a voice calling her name.

She turned, and found Padma, looking at her with an expression Hermione had never seen before.

"You can't stare at me like that."

Hermione was taken aback. "What?"

"You can't stare at me like that, Hermione. People will notice."

"I didn't even -"

"Notice? Well pay more attention. You're the best witch in school. You're obsessed with classes, and even though Professor Babbling is horribly boring, you always keep your attention planted on her. So you can't stare at me."

"Well -"

But before Hermione could find the words to finish the sentence, Padma shook her head and said, "I'm not going to do this with you. I have to go now. Bye, Hermione."


	3. Keep it Inside

Padma set the book down in her lap. She was in the Ravenclaw common room, sitting in a quiet corner with the others in her year as they settled into their Defense Against the Dark Arts homework. It wasn't that she was bored with her homework. The reason she set the book down was that she couldn't read it properly.

 _Educated at Durmstrang, a school of witchcraft and wizardry located in either Sweden or Norway, Grindelwald showed promise as a student._

Hermione. Her eyes. Brown like a leaf falling from a tree in the fall. Brown but light and full of life.

 _Durmstrang Institute has since developed a reputation of teaching the Dark Arts._

Padma has since developed feelings for Hermione.

 _However, this reputation is almost certainly due to Grindelwald's infamy and cruelty._

Feelings that must be kept inside.

 _Grindelwald was expelled before graduation -_

Keep it inside, Padma. "Keep it inside." Padma's mother, finding the drawing. Padma at four, a slap across the face, Padma's mother throwing out the hand-drawn picture of two girls kissing. "Keep it inside," Ms. Patil says, as four-year-old Padma sits crying, not understanding. "No one can know about this. You will never draw this ever again. You will never think about this anymore."

Padma was getting a headache. Book in her lap, she looked over towards the fireplace. The flames, licking the sides, providing warmth, gave her comfort. Their pattern, yellow-red-orange, was mesmerizing and relaxing all at once. "This isn't happening," Padma whispered to herself. "It isn't and won't. Keep it inside. Keep it inside."


End file.
